B.G. Holmes
These pages are written in the belief that few now are living who have known of these events, or at least remembered the incidents, happening some thirty years ago.
All are actual experiences and nothing has been added. They are about Pioneers who had no easy time of living, but who enjoyed to the fullest the close touch with nature before the many came to populate the Valley.
No attempt at literary style has been made, but it is the hope of the author that these lines will give some pleasure and information regarding the early days of the Valley.
Two Old Indians
The hill was steep – too steep for the Reo and Ed and Pete pushed and pushed, and blocked the rear wheels with rocks as they finally reached the top of old Polique Canyon and looked down into Holcomb. The year was 1916.
Tommy Stewart was the present lord of the old mining Valley, now deserted of miners, pick or gold pan, and the Reo arrived at Stewarts’ Mansion of Stone. But an unusual site met the eyes of the two men, for here in an old automobile sat a man and a wife with two old Indians. The car looked ancient but the later looked, and were, much older. The white man was taking notes rapidly while his wife asked the questions. The younger of the red men made a statement, “he say many Indians buried over there”, pointing to the partial flat on the north and back side of Delmar Mountain. “Lots of Indians”, he repeated. The white couples eyes followed the sweeping gestures almost in unbelief. Possibly it could be, an old, old, old burying ground; not theirs to question.
Two old Indians and the son was 84.
But although Ed and Pete were promised copies when the notes would be published, such notes never came, nor were any of the four seen or heard of again. Another Holcomb Valley mystery.
Three Boys in 1890
Not a building, not even a board, between Knight’s Camp and the Dam in 1890—over four miles. Three of us boys had spent a hard and hot two days’ hike from Redlands with our burro over Seven Oaks and Mill Creek trails to Knights where we camped four nights. The plate camera picture of the two shows we’re tired. Then walking along the margin of the lake on a fisherman’s trail (perhaps cutting across North Estate from Metcalf Bay to North or Boulder Bay) and over the hill to Papoose, and along the water to the old Dam. The Island was not even noted, but the dead trees with roots in the water made a lasting impression, looking weird and lonely and creating a feeling you were continents removed from any human habitation.
The plaintive voices of the few birds in those dead skeletons were the only signs of life. We spoke almost in whispers, not a tree had yet felt the woodman’s axe.
We soon passed the Dam Keeper’s shack on the hill as we began the steady climb three miles to Bluff Lake Meadow. As we crossed the latter late in the afternoon, on the east side, the Huntingtons stood in the western shadows of the big pines at 7400 feet waving a greeting. Father, Mother and about five children made a perfect stairway in height, a lasting picture. No doubt we were almost a curiosity, and this in the month of August. They were the owners of the 120 acres hemmed in by the Government, but their cabin was hidden in the trees.
Bill and Mrs. Morrison
In the early days of the growth of the Valley -1917 to 1920- the main road to the lake was down from Bartlett’s corner and the Boulevard and along the western slope were three groups of log cabins.
First Morrison’s, next, Severance, and third Garstins – (now a café) and the Captain Grant boat landing on a small point west of the latter. This was the main boat artery between Knights (later Pine Knot), hotel and store, and the landing where the cabins down the lake must come for mail and provisions and practically everything.
Well the Morrison’s had a stable near the cabin but on the roadside. Having been out all winter they were back for the summer and Mrs. Was at the corral when Bill Knickerbocker chanced to come down from the store on his way to his putt-putt at the landing. He was keeper of the big Dam and boss of the lake and made this trip for supplies at least weekly.
Now he wasn’t alone, for on his left shoulder was a sack of cement and on top of that for a ride was perched his one year old son; also, as if this load was not sufficient, he was carrying by his right hand a five gallon can of gasoline – power for the boat. Bill had other duties aside from the Dam and helped the summer owners in many ways, being a veritable “handy man” to the many, so, of course, Mrs. Morrison stopped him with a greeting. Asked about his family and conditions through the winter.
The conversation went on and on and Bill never unloaded one thing, just stood there as if he was carrying feathers, and the lady enjoying every minute of it, and telling of the meeting and Bill’s stoicism for months after as an example of wonderful strength.
Some man – was this fellow from Pennsylvania.
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